


i might have lit the very fuse

by heatdeath (keptein)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/pseuds/heatdeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah,” Koutarou says. “I bought drinks, you want one?”</p><p>Keiji considers it. It’s Thursday, they haven’t had dinner yet, but neither of them have class in the morning, and the day’s easiness has seeped into his posture, content to stay there for the night. “Sure,” he says. “If you’re getting one.”</p><p>Koutarou nods, his grin growing wicked as he pushes the blanket off and stands up. He’s not wearing trousers, like Keiji had assumed - instead, he’s just been lounging around in briefs, which isn’t unusual. On his legs, however, coming up to the mid of his thigh, are black sheer stockings, edged with lace where they meet his skin, still pale from winter. He walks to the kitchen with casual, measured steps, letting Keiji look his fill. His briefs are black too, but Keiji can’t look away from his thighs, the delicate lace rim shifting against toned muscle as Koutarou steps away and out of sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i might have lit the very fuse

**Author's Note:**

> akaashi fucks bokuto in thigh highs and there are feelings. thank you to shannon, alex and sarah for betaing, you are great. thank you to bishop and aj for encouragement. i started this fic like nine months ago lmao. finally it's free.

The last of the afternoon light is still streaming through the windows when Keiji comes home, toeing off his shoes and placing them by the door.

“Welcome home,” Koutarou says, and Keiji can see him rearing his head from the couch in the living room to look at him through the hallway. “You have a good time?”

“Yeah,” Keiji says. He comes into the room and presses an absent kiss to the crown of Koutarou’s head as he walks past him to sit down. Their living room isn’t big, but there’s enough room for a table, some chairs, a couch and a TV, as well as two large windows that let everything in, from noise to weather. Today’s a pleasant, quiet day, though, and even though the TV is turned down a little, Keiji can hear every word clearly. “They don’t seem completely useless.”

Koutarou laughs. “It’s university,” he says. “They do raise the bars a little, you know.”

“They should raise it above group projects in general,” Keiji says. Koutarou’s legs are under a blanket, even though he’s clearly warm enough to just be sitting in a t-shirt. There’s a Japanese drama on TV, and Keiji casts it a disdainful look. “This again?”

“Kuroo said I couldn’t miss today’s episode,” Koutarou says. He keeps grinning and then catching himself, schooling his face back into an attentive expression - Keiji doesn’t know if he’s doing it for attention, but Keiji doesn’t intend to give it to him.

“You two are hopeless,” he sighs. He’s been watching this show whenever Koutarou is out of the house, but only for one of the background characters, and he refuses to be lumped in with Koutarou and Kuroo in their obsession. Still, they watch most of the episode, sitting in silence as the dusk takes hold outside.

“How was your day?” Keiji asks once the credits are rolling, turning back to Koutarou.

Koutarou smiles again, a grin with an edge that Keiji refuses to fall for. “Fine, didn’t do much,” he says. “Ran some errands, bought some stuff. I went grocery shopping.”

“Good,” Keiji says.

“Yeah,” Koutarou says. “I bought drinks, you want one?”

Keiji considers it. It’s Thursday, they haven’t had dinner yet, but neither of them have class in the morning, and the day’s easiness has seeped into his posture, content to stay there for the night. “Sure,” he says. “If you’re getting one.”

Koutarou nods, his grin growing wicked as he pushes the blanket off and stands up. He’s not wearing trousers, like Keiji had assumed - instead, he’s just been lounging around in briefs, which isn’t unusual. On his legs, however, coming up to the mid of his thigh, are black sheer stockings, edged with lace where they meet his skin, still pale from winter. He walks to the kitchen with casual, measured steps, letting Keiji look his fill. His briefs are black too, but Keiji can’t look away from his thighs, the delicate lace rim shifting against toned muscle as Koutarou steps away and out of sight.

Keiji can hear him laugh in the kitchen. He wants to appear unaffected, but his teeth have made indents in the bottom of his lip, and Keiji can feel the warmth in his cheeks. He casts a quick look at the TV, but the flickering images don’t capture his attention at all, every nerve on edge as he waits for Koutarou to reappear.

He does, coming back in with a drink in each hand. He stops for a moment to scratch at his calf with his other foot, making the nylon move across his skin. His gray t-shirt is loose, falling easily over his chest and contrasting with the tightness of the stockings. His grin, once Keiji’s eyes finally reach it, is as shit-eating as he’s ever seen it. “You like ‘em, then,” he says.

Keiji finally manages to look away and he turns back to the TV, although he knows any upper hand he had in this situation is well and truly lost. He hums noncommittally, in a desperate last attempt to seem reasonably unaffected, and because he doesn’t trust his voice.

Koutarou sits down, blanket disregarded now that it’s no longer needed for a dramatic reveal. His thigh presses against Keiji’s, a tease and a reassurance both, and Keiji eagerly accepts the drink that is handed to him. He didn’t realise quite how thirsty he was, and he drinks half of it in one go, eyes glued to the TV.

Next to him, Koutarou is radiating smugness, taking slow sips of his own drink.

They sit like that for minutes, silent except for the quiet murmur of the TV - but then Koutarou sits back, lifting one leg and resting the ankle on his other knee, presenting the pale flesh of his inner thigh like - like -

Keiji can’t stop staring. He’s hard enough to feel constricted in his own jeans, and he doesn’t know if he wants to reward Koutarou or punish him for thinking he can get away with this.

“Honestly,” Koutarou says, “I kinda thought we’d be fucking by now--”

The words don’t have time to leave his mouth before Keiji licks them out, tongue gliding over Koutarou’s teeth and tasting the drink he’s had, the anticipation making Koutarou shudder slightly under Keiji’s hands as he glides them over Koutarou’s thighs. He sucks on Koutarou’s bottom lip and digs his teeth in, releasing it in increments. “You suit them,” Keiji says finally when he breaks away, gaze stuck on the redness of Koutarou’s mouth before his eyes flick up to meet Koutarou’s. “Did you buy them today?”

“Yeah,” Koutarou breathes, cheeks already dusting with red. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, but this isn’t the position Keiji wants. He nudges Koutarou over so he leans against the armrest, changing his own position so he’s between Koutarou’s legs on the couch. Koutarou fists a hand in his shirt and pulls him closer for another kiss, chapped lips catching on Keiji’s before he pulls back to wet them again.

“Good purchase,” Keiji says finally, fingers urging at the bottom on Koutarou’s t-shirt. Koutarou takes it off and shakes his head, hair falling down in bits and pieces.

“I don’t know why you get so worked up over this,” he muses, “they’re not that different to my thigh guards.”

Keiji glides one hand down Koutarou’s thigh, feeling the nylon against his fingers. “It is different,” he says. He can still see Koutarou’s thigh muscles move under the fabric, the shadows tapering them off, and they look smooth and almost off-limits through the black, but he doesn’t know how to explain it - before he can find the phrasing, Koutarou starts laughing.

“I can tell from your face, yeah,” he says. He leans back against the armrest, one arm slung over the headrest of the couch and the other resting low on his stomach. “So, you gonna do anything while you’re there, or..?”

Keiji looks up from where he’s been tracing the edge of the stocking and scratches the sensitive skin there once, lifting his eyebrows at Koutarou’s twitch. Without replying, he lifts one of Koutarou’s legs and moves off the couch, unbuttoning his jeans. From where he’s sprawled, Koutarou watches with lidded eyes, playing idly with the elastic band of his briefs.

They look at each other in silence as Keiji steps out of his jeans, unbuttoning his shirt and letting that fall to the floor as well. He gets back on the couch, Koutarou’s knees on either side of him, and he lets himself slide his hands over the stockings again, feeling the contrast between the sleekness and warm, dry skin at the top of Koutarou’s thighs.

“Come _on_ ,” Koutarou says, biting his lip as he looks down at where Keiji’s hands are on him. His cock is a hard line in his briefs, almost jutting out from the top, and Keiji finally takes mercy on him, following the outline with his fingers.

"Lift your hips up," he says, and works Koutarou's briefs off as soon as he does, his ears acutely attuned to the sound of cotton sliding over satin. Koutarou sighs, one hand grabbing around his dick, but not moving. Keiji's hands stroke over his calves, his knees, all the way up to his thighs again. "You're quiet," he observes.

"You're not doing a good enough job, then," Koutarou says, then laughs at Keiji's face. "Guess I'm, uh, more into this than I thought."

Keiji figured. Koutarou looks obscene, eyes still half-lidded and one hand resting on the cock leaking precome onto his abs, wet even though Keiji has barely touched him - his skin turning paler and paler the closer it is to his crotch, the black of the stockings making his thighs look white and almost ethereal. The TV is still on, and the light casts ever-moving shadows over Koutarou's form, hiding and revealing in equal measure.

“I’m always surprised by how shameless you are,” Keiji says, and watches Koutarou’s flush deepen even as he grins salaciously. His thighs are tense under Keiji’s fingers, firm and warm, almost as hot as Keiji feels.

“I told the cashier they were for my girlfriend,” Koutarou admits breathlessly, looking at him.

“But they weren’t.” Keiji snaps the elastic,  enjoying the shudder that goes through Koutarou.

“Well, you’re _basically_ my girlfriend,” Koutarou replies, cheek in full force, and Keiji admits to that with a laugh.

He leans forward to kiss him, bracing his hands on Koutarou's broad chest. The kiss is smooth, familiar, Koutarou bringing up a hand to rest on the side of Keiji's neck. "I’m not the one wearing them," Keiji says when they part, his lips only inches from Koutarou's, gaze shifting between his eyes and his mouth. He can feel Koutarou's grin and the huff of breath that accompanies it, the drawled statement quiet against his lips,

"We can change that."

Keiji pulls back a little and looks at the stockings again, imagining himself in Koutarou's place. It wouldn't exactly be a hardship. "Alright," he says, and Koutarou's eyes widen before he smiles.

"Awesome," he breathes, gaze sinking lower and moving slowly over Keiji's body, clearly taken by his own imagination. Keiji stands up on his knees and pats Koutarou's leg again so he can get out, standing up. "Where you goin'?"

"Bathroom," Keiji says. He leaves and comes back with a tube of lubricant, rolling it between his hands to warm it - he hands it to Koutarou to hold while he takes off his underwear and then moves back onto the couch, a little further back than he was sitting previously.

"Finally," Koutarou says, and Keiji laughs a little as he takes the lube back and pours it over his fingers. "Thought we were gonna be here forever."

"Not today," Keiji says, slowly pressing a finger into Koutarou and looking at his face, the way he furrows his brows and then exhales slowly, eyes closing. He turns his head up towards the ceiling, and Keiji takes the moment to maneuver himself, head moving down so that he's breathing over the soft skin of Koutarou's inner thigh.

"Wha-" Koutarou says, head snapping back down, and then Keiji leans in to fasten his mouth just over where the thigh highs end and suck hard. Koutarou jolts, strong muscles quivering on either side of Keiji's head, and one of his hands grip at Keiji's hair. Keiji's finger is still working him open, slowly, and he licks at the mark he's made, the sensitive skin smooth under his tongue.

Koutarou is making noise now, his breaths heavy and tailed by the occasional curse. Keiji has spent over a year finding out exactly where Koutarou's affinity for pain during sex begins and ends, and he takes full advantage of that now, biting down on another spot as his finger is joined by another, circling and scissoring inside Koutarou. "Fuck," Koutarou hisses, the hand on Keiji's head grasping at his hair forcefully for a moment before letting go. Keiji lifts his eyes to observe him - his dick is still hard against his stomach, and he's biting his lip, eyes glued to where Keiji's mouth meets his skin. His other hand is gripping the back of the couch, knuckles white.

He looks incredible. Keiji lowers his eyes again to avoid being distracted, sucks and licks at Koutarou's inner thigh, once tracing the lace rim with tongue.

“You’re bein’ too _careful_ ,” Koutarou insists breathlessly, “C’mon, Keiji, you know I can take it.”

In response, Keiji twists his fingers, biting down again, and Koutarou _arches_ , moaning loudly.

“That’s it, that’s it, fuck, yeah -”

“You’re loud,” Keiji teases, pushing in another finger and working him open relentlessly. “Does that mean I’m doing this right?”

Koutarou pants out a laugh, flushed all over, his cock a deep rose against his tan stomach. “Yeah, you’re doing alright, I guess.”

Keiji hums and strokes his free hand over Koutarou’s thigh, nails scratching lightly. “You look amazing,” he says, teasing cut short by the hoarse honesty in his voice as he scissors his fingers carefully.

In response, Koutarou spreads his legs, one hand curling over his cock while the other rests on his thigh. “Thank you,” he says breathily, cheekily, pressing back against Keiji’s fingers. He’s performing, but Keiji isn’t telling him to stop. His favourite moment is when Koutarou stops exaggerating, when his moans and gasps cut to the bone, loud and desperate and _true_.

“You want another?”

“Yes, please,” Koutarou says, laughing at the unimpressed look Keiji gives him for the exaggerated politeness - but it quickly turns into another moan, head falling back as Keiji pushes another finger in, moving them slowly in and out of him. “ _Fuck_ , Keiji..”

“Don't come yet,” Keiji says mildly, as if Koutarou's the only one feeling the edge creeping closer, as if the mere sight of him spread out like this, rocking on Keiji's fingers, isn't enough to make Keiji's toes curl too. Koutarou sees right through him, of course, and laughs again - a hoarse, aroused sound that sends shivers down Keiji's spine.

“You _cheat_ ,” Koutarou says, delighted, and then, “I'm ready, Keiji, let's do this -”

Sometimes Keiji will hold him back, make sure he's not jumping in too quick, prep him until he's begging for more, but not today; today Keiji is just as eager, and there's a slight shake to his hands as he sits back, spreading some more lube over himself. “Ride me, then.”

“So demanding,” Koutarou says roughly, moving to straddle him - Keiji bites back a groan as Koutarou rocks, their cocks sliding and catching against each other. “You're lucky I like ya, Keiji.”

Keiji grips Koutarou's ass, digging his nails in, and Koutarou moans loudly, head falling back.

“Ah - _God,_ okay, maybe I'm a little lucky too, shit, okay, okay -” Koutarou keeps talking, words without meaning falling from his mouth, but Keiji can't pay attention to anything but the way Koutarou feels when he sinks down on him, the world whiting out for a second before it comes back.

“Did you just come?” Koutarou asks, breathless and incredulous, and Keiji snaps the elastic of the thigh highs again, making him jolt and moan.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “I didn't.”

“Alright, alright,” Koutarou laughs, and then begins to move, pressing up and sliding back down, Keiji's hips rising to meet his, both of them falling silent to pant. Keiji doesn’t often speak, too embarrassed by the sound of his own voice murmuring obscenities, but it’s rare that Koutarou is quiet like this. The intent look in his eyes as he moves, the heat of him, the _sight_ of him is overpowering, leaving Keiji with no thoughts in his head but vulgar vocabulary he rarely lets himself use.

It’s not a moment for reflection, but the slow, easy quality of the day stays in the space between their bodies, leaving Keiji’s movements unhurried and lingering. There’s no rush, not yet, even as Koutarou might goad and tease, so he’s able to enjoy the sense of him, stroking the soft satin over his thighs and the skin, just as soft and tempting. “You’re beautiful,” Keiji says, and Koutarou throws his head back and laughs, white teeth gleaming. The line of his throat is captivating.

Keiji knows he is hopelessly in love. It’s not something he likes to dwell on.

“Thank you, dear,” Koutarou says, rewarding the compliment with a firm slide of his hips, and just like that, the pace is set. Keiji fists a hand in his hair and drags him down to kiss him, hard and deep. He snaps the elastic against Koutarou’s thigh and Koutarou moans, bucking and clenching, leaving Keiji gasping for breath. _“Fuck_ , Keiji, this is a fuckin’ gift and a half,” Koutarou gets out, riding him harder, “you’re really fuckin’ - ah - gettin’ off on this, huh?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Keiji bites out and kisses him again, nails digging into his hips, drawing hard lines down his thighs and tearing at the satin, snapping the elastic again against an earlier bruise, finding it with his fingers and tracing it, pressing at the skin. It makes Koutarou whine, one of those brutally honest sounds that can replay for hours in Keiji’s head, and his own hands are busy scratching and pressing at Keiji’s shoulders, his hair, bringing them closer together to rock his cock against Keiji’s stomach. Keiji feels like he’s on fire, enveloped by warmth, and he sinks his teeth into Koutarou’s shoulder to stifle his cry when he comes, hands twitching on Koutarou’s hips.

When he comes to, Koutarou is working himself against him, making unsatisfied, demanding moans, saying something - “Jerk me _off_ , Keiji, come on, I just need a little - please -” and Keiji does, fingers unsteady as they wrap around Koutarou, squeezing and moving, and then he’s coming with a loud moan of Keiji’s name, tightening around Keiji’s cock, beautiful thighs tensing on top of him, come splattering between them.

They take a long minute to catch their breath, exhaling into each other’s space. Koutarou’s eyes are closed, giving Keiji the time to study him, to commit every detail of him to memory. There’s always something lingering in Keiji, an old fear of wordless loss that drives him to remember every piece of Koutarou as well as he can, to gather his sounds and his smells like precious stones to keep tucked away. He’s never valued anything this much before. He counts Koutarou’s eyelashes, his light smattering of freckles, the hooked line of his nose.

Then Koutarou opens his eyes, smiling softly at him, and Keiji smiles back. “Good purchase,” he says, because there’s no point in trying to set words to this tumultuous, vulnerable thing inside him. And from the way Koutarou’s eyes gleam, he thinks Koutarou might know anyway.

“I think so too,” Koutarou replies with a grin, and kisses him lightly before looking down. “Ah, they’re all ruined now, though..”

“What a shame,” Keiji says dryly. “You’ll have to buy a new pair.”

Koutarou snorts with laughter, shifting off him with a grunt, and then stands up to stretch. “I’m buying two pairs next time, don’t forget!”

Keiji’s eyes run up the lines of his body, meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile. “I won’t. Dinner?”

“Dinner. But first, bathroom!”

“Hold on.” Keiji stands up, wrapping a hand around Koutarou’s wrist to keep him close, and kisses his cheek, chaste but lingering. This embarrassing domesticity will have to do, a place-holder for all the words he can’t find. When he pulls back, Koutarou gives him a bright and confused smile. “I love you,” Keiji says, and steps back.

“I love you too. Now, I really gotta go clean up, and so do you..”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

Koutarou laughs loudly. “You _wish,_ ” he says, and then Keiji has to chase him into the bathroom so he can smack him on the head while Koutarou cowers and apologises through his laughter. Koutarou has to know how happy he makes him, Keiji thinks, because there’s no other word for this.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http//tivruskis.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/tivruskis) as tivruskis. hmu
> 
> [reallycorking](http://reallyporning.tumblr.com) drew amazing art inspired by this fic! [ VIEW IT HERE ](http://reallyporning.tumblr.com/post/137864737139/i-read-this-fic-and-it-made-me-think-a-lot-about)


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